


The Loophole

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9587720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: Office romances were not allowed. Which was why it was a good thing this wasn't romance. That was the loophole, right?*Really not that smutty, I'm not a smut writer. Very vaguely steamy, this is really just more of an excuse to write a workplace AU.





	

Office romances were not allowed.

Okay, but they _really_ weren't allowed. 

Neal was more than aware: as Head of Human Resources, it was his job to be aware of just how much office romances weren't allowed. (To be fair, Neal didn't even want to be Head of Human Resources. It was a gift-job from his father, who didn't trust his son’s _idealism—_ or, as the rest of the world called it, “basic morality”—mixing with the legal world. The safest place for him in the family firm was in the H.R. office, putting all those morals to good use.)

Office. Romances. Were. Not. Allowed. 

Which—he reflected, as Emma unraveled his tie with practiced fingers, keeping it looped around his neck so she could tug him into another kiss—was why it was a good thing this was _not_ a romance. “Romance” meant flowers and chocolate; secret smiles exchanged in the break room; hearts skipping beats, all that crap. 

This was not a romance. Between Emma’s commitment issues and Neal’s emotional unavailability, romance wasn't even _possible._ This was a mutually beneficial arrangement between two…well, he didn't know that they were quite “friends”; but definitely on friendly terms. 

“This is a nice tie,” Emma remarked, slightly out of breath. “Where’d you get it?”

“Not sure,” Neal managed; his words came in short bursts, interrupted by Emma’s lips pressing against his: “It may—have been a Christmas present—couple years—probably Dad or—Regina—”

“I’m over the tie,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Just stop talking.”

“Sorry—”

His back collided wth the wall, Emma’s hands slamming against his shoulders as her lips found his again. Sparks seemed to burst on his skin everywhere she touched, her fingers curling under his jaw; through his hair—

“Hey, how many rules are we breaking right now?” Emma grinned. “Just off the top of your head.”

“Mmm—” Neal squinted at the ceiling, giving a little shrug—“ I’d say, about fifty.”

“Fifty, really?”

“Don’t worry—I can argue all of them, no problem.”

Emma’s smile grew; she lifted an eyebrow, twirling her finger around his loose tie. “Is that so?” she said. “Seems to me like you’d be a better lawyer than H.R. guy.”

“Please tell me you at least know my name, and don’t just mentally refer to me as ‘H.R. Guy’.”

“Neal Something-Or-Other, right?”

“Gold. It’s on the front of the building.”

“ _Oh…_ ”

Neal crinkled his brow, not entirely sure if she was kidding. “Uh—?”

“Shut up, H.R. Guy,” she exhaled, and then she was back to fumbling with his jacket and setting fires with her heated kisses.

Office romances were not allowed. But the Code of Conduct said nothing about sporadic office sex.

 It was a loophole Roman Gold had _intentionally_ incorporated when he established his firm, ensuring that he could carry on with Belle French the way he’d been for the past five years. Of course, if Roman knew his son was trying to use that same loophole now, he’d throw a fit—probably a few plates, while he was at it. 

But hey—if five years’ worth of after-hours-sex didn't count as a romance, Neal saw no reason why six- months’ should. He wasn't breaking any rules that weren't already meant to be broken.                                               

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

Belle flinched as Killian Jones slammed his hands on the table, setting her cup of pens to rattle. Gritting her teeth, she caught it mid-rattle, and wrenched it back in place. 

“Mr. Jones, if you wouldn't mind controlling your temper—?”

“ _Sexual harassment?_ Are you bloody joking?” Jones stood up, fuming; glowering as he circled his chair with folded arms “Can’t believe this, this is ridiculous…”

“It is _not_ ridiculous, Mr. Jones,” Belle said sternly, pointing with her pen for him to retake his seat. “According to the complaint Miss Lucas filed, you made several remarks regarding her appearance…”

Jones rolled his eyes, still refusing his seat.

“…The nature of these remarks, as reported, violate our Code of Conduct and disciplinary action _is_ warranted.” Belle glanced up from her files, raising her eyebrows. “Please take your seat.”

Jones looked as though he were about to argue—then thought better of it, and threw himself into the chair, still muttering.

“I’m willing to hear your side of the story,” Belle went, shifting her papers around. “If you believe you’re being wrongfully accused—”

“You’re damn right, I’m being wrongfully accused!” Jones snapped. “All I said was, ‘Damn, Ruby, you look hot’—”

“Which qualifies as an inappropriate remark,” Belle interrupted. “Unwanted attentions and leering count as sexual advances.”

“Well, I’m going to fight it,” Jones said stubbornly. 

“Fine,” Belle shrugged. “You’ll lose, but it’s your choice.” She cleared her throat, and moved her papers around. “Actually, while I have you here, I’d like to bring up some other complaints that have been filed against you.”

Jones frowned, his eyes following her movements. “What complaints?”

“Mainly, regarding your wardrobe,” Belle said, taking out a thick file; dropping it on the desk with a light _thud!_ She exhaled, flipping it open, and drew out the papers. “Several people have complained about your inappropriate-for-work attire—”

“ _What?_ ”

“—the plunging necklines, the lack of buttons, the jeans—”

“I work in the mailroom! No one cares what you wear in the mailroom!”

“Be that as it may, Mr. Jones, when you are _delivering mail,_ you are no longer in the mailroom. And people care.” Belle clicked her teeth in mock apology, and started going through the reports. “Some are anonymous…and several specifically requested I mention their names.” She looked up with a tight smile. “Not exactly Mr. Popularity, are you, Jones?”

Jones flicked his eyes derisively, and scoffed.

“David Nolan: ‘ _I find both his dress and demeanor offensive. There is no room for sleaziness in the work place.’_ Elsa Arrens: _‘Inappropriate. His existence, in general. I demand an apology.’_ Leroy Mines: ‘ _He dresses like he’s trying to get middle-aged divorcees to shove dollar bills down his—_ ’”

“That’s _slander!”_

“Actually, it’s not,” a dry voice interrupted.

 Belle and Jones swiveled their heads toward the door, where a smirking Jefferson Hatter stood, several folders tucked under his arm. 

“Can I help you, Mr. Hatter?” Belle asked politely. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

Jefferson glanced around the room, letting out a little sigh. “I’m looking for Neal,” he said. “Need some legal advice.”

Belle frowned, and flipped out her hand. “Aren’t you a lawyer?”

“Yeah, but he’s smarter than me, and I’m lazy, so…” Jefferson sauntered in, one hand in his jacket pocket. “I’ll just wait in his office, ’kay?”

“Not _’kay,_ ” Belle said irritably, turning in her seat, her eyes following him as he sailed past her desk. “You can’t go in there, he’s not— _Jeff!”_

“He won’t mind,” Jefferson’s voice called back.

“Oh, won’t he?” Belle muttered through her teeth, but she didn't pursue the matter: she was already busy dealing with _one_ overgrown frat-boy, she didn't have time for Jefferson’s shenanigans. “As I was saying, Jones—these complaints are grounds for suspension, possible termination if you don’t comply. Do you understand?”

“I understand that this is _rubbish._ ” Jones folded his arms tighter, glaring at the wall. “So, now what happens?”

“I”ll have to talk to Neal, he has the final say, but expect some disciplinary action.” Belle stacked her papers, flashing him a prim smile. “You may go back to the mailroom now.”

Jones looked at the ceiling. “Ridiculous,” he scoffed again, and got up from his chair. “Absolutely ridiculous…”

He continued muttering, all the way out the door. Belle shrugged, and started packing up her files again. Jones could bitch all he wanted about _ridiculous,_ but she took her job very seriously—particularly when it gave her an opportunity to torment Roman’s least favorite employee. 

“Okay, but seriously, where is he?”

Belle closed her eyes against Jefferson’s voice. “Why don’t you call him and ask?” she exhaled. 

“He’s not picking up.”

“Then maybe he’s busy.”

“Doing what?”

“How the hell should I know? I’m not his personal secretary.”

Jefferson popped his head out, frowning. “You’re not?”

“No!” Belle said, rather offended. 

“Well, he’s not picking up, I don’t know how to find him.” Jefferson listlessly strolled back into the main room, hands loosely in his pockets; he bent his head, inspecting the shelves that held Belle’ little knickknacks. “Why do you have a teacup behind glass?”

“It’s a memento,” Belle said absently, checking her email now. Four from Roman in the past half hour—was something wrong?

“Memento from what?”

“Grandmother or something….” It was actually a Christmas gift from Roman (he’d gotten her for Secret Santa for the past five years— _purely coincidental—_ and he knew she liked antiques). 

“Your _grandmother?_ ”

“Jeff, I’m busy.” Belle frowned as she skimmed the emails, phrases jumping out at her: “ _we may have a problem”_ and “ _don’t want you to abuse your position”_ and “ _that idiot security guard”_ and Neal’s name peppered throughout. Her nerves were already rising, making her too overwhelmed to actually read anything, but it looked like he was highly concerned about Neal, and for some reason, that made him highly concerned about _them_ and everything that went on after-hours.

Oh, God…

Did Neal _know?_

 _It’s okay,_ Belle thought, biting her lip nervously. _Roman’s loophole. It’s okay._

For the first time ever, she loved that damn loophole, even more than Roman. Every time he forgot her birthday, every time his eyes slid to the slide when Cora, his ex-wife and partner,  walked by in a tight skirt, that loophole saved him: “We’re not _really_ in that kind of relationship, Belle. It would be unethical.”

But it was okay. Because That damn loophole—that _goddamn loophole,_ the one she loathed, that got Roman out of _so much_ —was going to save them now.

 


End file.
